In the fall of 1993, when Tyler Wetherall was almost 10 years old, she came home from school with her sister, Caitlin, 12, and saw two strangers talking to their mom.

“Straightaway we sensed something was wrong,” recalled Wetherall, now 34, who lived in a quaint British town at the time.

The guests were detectives from Scotland Yard looking for their American father — who, unbeknownst to them, had been a fugitive for the past eight years.

He was on the run from “Continuing Criminal Enterprise” charges as one of the kingpins of a drug cartel that, among other offenses, had smuggled 30 tons of Thai marijuana into the US in the early ’80s. ​

‘We never questioned any of the moves, but I hated each one.’

“It was the era of Ronald Reagan’s war on drugs,” said Wetherall. “If you were caught, the sentences were draconian.”

She details her experiences as the unwitting daughter of a wanted criminal, Benjamin Glaser, in her memoir “No Way Home” (St. Martin’s Press), out April 3. In it she describes her nomadic childhood living in 13 different homes in five countries.

“We never questioned any of the moves, but I hated each one,” said the Brooklyn-based writer.

She was born in October 1983 in San Francisco, where her father had masterminded a profitable import business shipping and distributing pot from Southeast Asia. The FBI had caught wind of his exploits and was watching the family closely.

In June 1985, Glaser and wis wife felt unnerved enough to leave their posh home and flee to Rome. It seemed the Feds were closing in on Glaser, gathering enough evidence for an indictment.

From Italy, they moved to Portugal and, months later, the South of France — where their fellow fugitives in the upscale enclave of Mougins included exiled Haitian dictator “Papa Doc” Duvalier and Saudi arms dealer Adnan Khashoggi.

St. Martin's Press

“We were surrounded by a lot of wealth, but, since everyone was living that way, it just felt ordinary,” said Wetherall. “[They] would exchange information on how to get by, how to get your kid into school under a fake name and how to spend money [that had been obtained illegally].”

However, life on the run was too much for Wetherall’s mother, Sarah, a British former model, and she insisted the family move to England. Soon after, in late 1987, Sarah and Benjamin divorced.

“I was devastated,” said Wetherall, who was 4 at the time. “Each year, I wished on every birthday candle that they would get back together.”

After that, Wetherall and her sister spent weekends and vacations visiting their dad in London, where he’d moved to, or on a trip with him to the French Alps or whatever exotic locale he was temporarily holed up in.

All seemed fine until that 1993 visit from Scotland Yard. Interest had been renewed in Glaser after a group of his former drug-running associates had been tracked down and arrested. The family’s house was searched, and their photographs and documents were taken away as evidence. Even Wetherall’s schoolgirl diary was confiscated.

The children couldn’t be questioned because they were minors, and Sarah refused to give up her ex-husband’s location. She alerted Glaser about the raid and, using a fake passport, he escaped London for life on the run again in continental Europe. A week later, Sarah sat down her kids — then ages 9 and 11 — and told them as much of the truth she felt they could understand.

“You are not going to be able to see Dad for a while,” she began. “He had to leave the country for legal reasons — something he needs to explain to you himself.”

The next three years were surreal. The family became convinced their telephone line was tapped and that they were often being followed. Communication with Glaser was done through letters — “He never pinned himself down to a location and we knew better than to ask,” explained Wetherall — or snatched conversations at prearranged times in phone booths.

Such was his love for his daughters that Glaser would take the chance of having them visit him even while he was on the lam. They once met him in France, for example, driven there by one of their dad’s neighbors.

“A lot of men in his position would have left their families, but Dad still wanted to be a big part of our lives,” said Wetherall. “It was [a] testimony to what an amazing father he was — despite some of his reckless decisions.”

Tyler WetherallAnnie Wermiel/NY Post

His desire to stay in touch with his girls wound up being his downfall. In October 1995, Scotland Yard, working in conjunction with the FBI, received a tip that Wetherall and her sister were with their dad in St. Lucia, where he was working as a hotel manager.

“The evening of my 12th birthday, he got a frantic call from Mum saying they were on his trail,” says Wetherall.

The girls were put on the next flight home and Glaser slipped the net again. But not for long. After spending four months traveling in Europe, he returned to St. Lucia, where he was finally arrested. It almost came as a relief.

“I think he’d had it with running and hiding,” said Wetherall.

Her dad was sentenced in California to 10 years in prison, later reduced to five years and 10 months. He came clean with his daughters about his murky past and the toll it took on the family while maintaining that smuggling pot is a “victimless crime.”

Out on supervised release in 2004, he is now an investment advisor living in northern California. Sarah is retired and living in the United Kingdom.

“There have been times when I have been angry with him and having a parent in prison carries a sense of shame,” Wetherall said. However, she has made her peace with her father, especially after spending months with him researching and writing her memoir.

“I have huge admiration for my dad,” she said. “He is a true adventurer.”